To New Shores
by Luthien17
Summary: In one fateful night in 1625, three strangers have to rely on each other so they can return home again. And they learn that the most amazing things can come from some terrible nights. Pre-Series. Two-Shot.
1. Part One

_Authors Note :Found this one on my laptop. A short take on how the four could've met, written about a year ago, and I thought why not share it. In this version, they meet and bond in 1625, so five years pre-series. (I don't remember if anything like the year they met was mentioned in the series itself.) I am not a historian, so forgive me if I made any mistakes in terms of historical accuracy. I tried my best. Obviously, I don't know how the maneuver described here really took place since there are also not many sources to look it up, so I just made up my own stuff. Rated T for slightly graphic violence and battlefield descriptions. I don't own any of the characters you might recognize. Here again the usual English-isn't-my-first-language-talking. Second part up on Sunday. Enjoy._

* * *

 **To New Shores**

-Part One-

 _September, 1625_

The nights were getting longer, but still, they slept at daylight, after spending the whole night travelling and riding. Judging by the position of the sun, it was late afternoon. Athos started to gather his sword and his weapon belt, tied it around his waist and slowly got up on his feet. The campfire next to him was out; the two other soldiers he had slept next to were still asleep. He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and leaned on his sword in order to rise from the ground.

"Athos," he heard a bark he would recognize everywhere. He looked over his shoulder and saw Tréville, captain of the musketeer regiment, just outside of a tent.

Athos swallowed down a groan. He didn't have a commission, so technically he was a cadet, having joined the regiment about a month ago. Due to his noble status, he could've gotten a commission very easily, but Athos had decided he would leave his title and his privileges behind the day he had left his village. Since then, the only person he ever truly spoke to was Tréville. A few of the other musketeers and cadets had made more than one attempt to talk to him, but Athos mostly blocked them, and he tried to hide from their curious stares. He really just had himself to blame that he didn't find the kind of brotherhood or friendship Tréville always told him about. The captain said it was one of the most important things a man learned in the regiment, and also the most valuable one, but Athos preferred to stay silent, sharing his thoughts with nobody but himself. They were all good men, but none of them had gained his trust yet.

He hurried over to the captain.

"Sir?"

Tréville looked at him from the toes to his head and raised an eyebrow.

"I want you to wake the other men. They have to be ready. We are mounting the ship soon."

Athos nodded and turned on the heel. This would be one of the first true battles he fought, ever. He was a fine swordsman, and a good fighter. He knew lots about politics and was ready to win any kind of duels, but this was the first time he ever went into battle for a king he never met. He strode over to the campfire and roughly nudged the two sleeping men on the ground by the shoulder.

One of them was a cadet, a young lad, maybe nineteen years old, and his head jerked up in surprise. He looked into Athos' face and understood immediately.  
The other one didn't take it so well. He was a full musketeer for a few weeks now, as far as Athos knew. The pauldron on his shoulder was already dirty and damaged. He was one giant of a man, dark-skinned and a bandana wrapped around his head. His beard was bushy and untended.

"Oi, who dares to disturb me?" he asked in a deep voice and looked around furiously, before his eyes landed on Athos.

"The captain sends me," Athos replied dryly, paying absolutely no attention to the man. "You should consider joining him in time."

With that, Athos left and joined Tréville, feeling the confused stare of the musketeer in his back.

"They're coming?" Tréville asked and tilted his head into the campfire's direction, where the musketeer and the cadet were putting their belts on. The former comte nodded.

"Good."

Other musketeers and cadets came from all directions, all looking rather tired, but their faces were determined. Athos heard the big musketeer and the cadet walking over and they came to a stop next to him.

"Are we heading to the boats, Captain?" the musketeer asked.

Tréville nodded.

"Yes, Porthos, but we are waiting until the others arrive."

"The others?" Porthos' voice sounded curious and Athos also took a look around.

He didn't see anyone who missed. They made their way from Paris a few days ago, but they weren't the first musketeers supporting the royal troops near la Rochélle. Two month ago, Tréville already sent out a troop after the order of the King, and now he had caome here himself to help recapture the île de Ré. Maybe those were the men they were still waiting for.

As if Tréville's words were a signal, they heard riders approaching. Every man on the clearing grabbed his pistol, but they let go as soon as the riders were visible and came pouring onto the clearing.

"About time," Athos heard Tréville commenting.

Eight riders lined up in front of them, and they dismounted simultaneously. Athos noticed Tréville eyeing them intensely, his gaze wandering over the eight men more than one time. There were six musketeers, and two cadets.

The captain seemed to count them multiple times. One of the musketeers stepped up to Tréville. He was about as tall as Athos, dark, curly hair falling on his shoulders, the beard unusually long for a soldier, longer than Athos'. But Athos guessed that they probably didn't have much time for cosmetic needs. The man had a long scar on his forehead, but the hat plunged the face into shadows.

"Where are Villard and Sevart?" Tréville asked the man. The musketeer bit his lip and shook his head.

"God," Tréville sighed and looked up in the sky for a second, murmuring something nobody was able to understand.

"They fought bravely," the musketeer added with a hoarse voice. "You can be proud of them, captain."

Tréville then locked his hand around the arm of the musketeer, squeezing it reassuringly.

"I am. And I am glad you returned with the rest of the men, Aramis," he replied. "You all are needed here. You are serving your country and the King well, and I hope you are able to return home soon."

So Aramis was the musketeer's name.

Athos had heard that name once or twice, when he had listened to other cadets or musketeers talking. He had never met him, since he had left with a group of musketeers for La Rochélle before Athos even joined the regiment. From what he knew, Aramis was one of the first soldiers to join the musketeer regiment after its foundation, and he had quite a reputation. He was one of the most respected men in the garrison.

"It's good to see you, Captain," Aramis said and Tréville nodded.

The captain then raised his voice.

"Alright, gentlemen. Commander Toiras is leading two elite regiments on the island. We have orders to support them. We are meeting at the shore; I want everybody ready to leave in five minutes!"

"Yes, Sir!" was the faint reply by some of the men surrounding their superior.

"Go!" Tréville barked and within seconds, everybody was starting to gather all their stuff and bags they would need during the siege.

* * *

As they walked to the shore about fifteen minutes later, Athos decided to walk right next to Porthos and the cadet he awoke earlier, not saying a single word, but listening attentively to their conversation.

"Did you know Villard or Sevart?" the cadet addressed the big musketeer.

Porthos shook his head.

"I may have seen them once or twice when I was a cadet. Still, it's nothing to take lightly."

"You know any of the others?" the cadet dug deeper, a curious glistering in his eyes.

Porthos shrugged.

"I know the cadets. And I know Philippe and Daron, they received their commission last winter."

"And Aramis?"

Porthos shot the cadet an annoyed look, since the boy kept asking questions Porthos obviously was too tired to answer.

"Dunno. He seems like a good man, a loyal one. And a joy to be around. But ever since Savoy happened, he barely talked to anyone. Mostly likes to keep things to himself."

The cadet snorted.

"Well, I guess experiencing something as traumatic as this takes a toll on everyone."

Athos furrowed his brow, as he tried hard to remember what happened in Savoy. It was a sensitive subject at the garrison; that much he had figured. He once had observed a cadet asking Tréville about it. The captain had yelled at the boy and had told him to return to the stables to work there, or he would forget himself. He decided to overcome his reserved nature and spoke freely to his two comrades.

"What happened in Savoy?"

Porthos head shot up in surprise and his mouth formed a crooked smile.

"Oh. He communicates," he answered and only received a grim look from Athos.

"Needs must. So?"

Porthos sighed, clearly uncomfortable talking about it. The cadet explained instead: "It was a training assignment, a few months ago. Twenty-two musketeers were sent to Savoy. They had nothing to fear, no need to be prepared to fight."

He made a pause, meeting Athos' impatient stare. Porthos continued with a low voice.

"They were attacked in their sleep. Twenty-two musketeers were sent to Savoy, one returned."

Athos raised a brow in surprise.

"Let me guess, Aramis?"

Porthos nodded.

"It was a massacre. Twenty of our comrades fell that day, and Aramis was the only one left to tell the Captain what had happened."

"But I thought they were twenty-two musketeers? What happened to the other one?"

"Deserted," the cadet spat with a sour tone in his voice, "It is considered one of the greatest tragedies in the history of the musketeer regiment."

"I see," Athos replied and returned his concentration to the path they were taking.

"Is this your first battle, cadet?" Porthos addressed Athos.

The swordsman grunted approvingly.

"It's Athos. It's not my first fight. But yes, my first battle in the name of the king, under the command of Tréville."

Porthos huffed a short laugh.

"Alright then, Athos. A pleasure."

Athos tipped his hat.

Once they arrived at the beach, they met the rest of the soldiers. It was the first time Athos saw that many people at one place. The French army had multiple ships and a lot of smaller ones, resembling more a boat than a ship. There were hundreds of men gathered on this shore, now splitting up on the ships. But Athos was really bad at guessing, so there could be more as well. It was truly impressive.

The musketeer regiment was split on multiple boats. Athos ended up on one with the cadet he had been walking next to, Aramis, the man named Philippe and two other musketeers he didn't know. Tréville was on a bigger ship sailing in a close distance, Porthos and three other musketeers by his side.

The sky was dark now. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds, and the only sounds they were able to make out were the faint voices of the men on the other ships and the rushing of the waves brushing against the cliffs nearby.

Tréville said they had to cross a distance of about four miles until they reached l'île de Ré. Toiras led the whole mission, with the goal to cast the occupants off the island. Winning the naval battles wasn't enough when they wanted to recapture the island itself, so they had to make a move.

Athos was able to make out the shore of the island in the dark. The men on the boats were quiet. In the distance, they were able to make out the sounds of canons being fired. Apparently, two or more ships met not too far from here. Every man was silent, listening to the rushing of the waves, all their senses on high alert, in case someone at the shore was able to spot them.

Athos felt someone move forward behind him, and he turned around to look in the face of Aramis. The solider was gently shoving him out of the way, his eyes locked on something at the shore. Athos was readying himself to protest about the treatment, but Philippe shot him a warning glare.

"Captain!" Aramis hissed, as quiet as he could, but loud enough that Tréville was able to hear him. The captain turned his head to look down to them.

Aramis gestured towards the shore.

"Scout!" he mouthed and already unfastened the rifle from his belt.

Tréville followed his man's gaze and also saw the scout standing at the shore, bending forward as he now definitely spotted the ships.

Aramis prepared the rifle to shoot, but waited for the order of the captain. Tréville exchanged a few words with another general, then he gave the order with his hand.  
Aramis couched the rifle, and Athos couldn't help himself and put his hand on the weapon, causing the marksman to look up at him.

"If you shoot now, they will know we are coming."

Athos felt the angry stare from Tréville, even though he wasn't able to see him.

Aramis reacted differently than he would've thought. The other soldiers he knew would've been angry with him; they would've yelled or snarled at him, because he dared to question an order. Aramis instead just grabbed Athos' hand with a firm grip and removed it from the rifle, but he had a soft expression in his eyes.

"If I don't, he will make a full report to his captain, and will make sure there are reinforcements so we aren't even able to make it to the shore."

"That's still a large distance. Usually, out of twenty shots, maybe one will hit the target."

Philippe behind them snorted.

"He won't miss."

Athos withstood the intense stare of Aramis for good three seconds, but then he nodded and moved out of the marksman's way.

Aramis exhaled slowly, aiming carefully with the rifle. The scout had finally spotted them completely, and he turned around and started to run.

"Aramis, now!" Tréville barked from above.

Without hesitating for another second, Aramis pulled the trigger, while the other musketeers on the boats covered their ears.

In the distance, in the faint light of the moon, Athos saw the scout go down and lying on the grass in a heap.

Aramis loosened his position, a triumphant sparkle in his eyes.

"Good shot," Athos commented dryly. Aramis' response was a little lift of the hat.

"What's your name?" Aramis asked curiously.

"Athos."

"Very well, Athos. I will remember that name."

"Prepare to land!" Tréville ordered from his position on the ship.

The men on the ships descended onto the small boats attached to them, the other soldiers started to approach the shore, jumping into the water as soon as it was only knee high. Athos, Philippe and Aramis pulled the boat on the land surface.

They waited until the rest of the troops joined them, all of the musketeers standing together in a group.

"Feels weird to be back," Aramis breathed and scanned the area with his eyes.

"You've been here before?" Porthos, who recently joined them, asked. Aramis nodded briefly.

"In '22. I don't remember much though."

Porthos gently tapped him on the shoulder.

"Porthos, is it?" Aramis asked and looked up into the tall man's eyes. "I see you finally got your commission. Congratulations. You deserve it!"

There was no sign of resentment or irony in the marksman's voice, just honest and pure delight.

Porthos grinned.

"Thanks."

A few quiet conversations were held between the musketeers. Philippe was boasting about his latest achievements in recent battles, the other cadets hanging on his lips with an admiring glistering in their eyes. Porthos, Aramis, a man called Daron and another musketeer were exchanging a few supplies they carried in small bags attached to their belts, discussing the moves they were probably ordered to make within the next minutes. Athos just stood there, observing them and listening carefully.

He paid attention to the way the men were interacting with each other, because he always felt like the mannerisms were the best way to picture someone's personality.  
Porthos seemed to be an open-minded person, determined to fight for his captain in any way possible, but despite the rough and dangerous appearance, he seemed like a very kind and passionate man.

Daron was a silent and observant man, not talking much, but always ready to chip in with an intelligent comment when it was needed, but otherwise, he held back and limited his responses to a nod or a shake of his head.

Aramis seemed to be as much of an extrovert as Porthos was, but he acted and talked a little bit more thoughtful, leading Athos to the conclusion he also had a rather intellectual side. Even though Athos knew that he was quite respected in the regiment, he didn't exploit his reputation. He treated every one of his comrades equal and with respect, but he also didn't seem to enjoy it when somebody tried to discipline him.

The fourth man, Albert was his name, had a very high opinion of himself. A little too high, for Athos' taste. He couldn't say a sentence without mentioning his own abilities and achievements throughout his career, and his attitude was tiring to endure.

Athos was relieved when he saw Tréville approaching.

"Gentlemen."

Every man stopped doing what they did and turned the attention to the musketeer's captain.

"Apparently, the enemy built a provisional wooden fortress, not very far from here. And they are prepared for us. We are going for a direct attack. Aramis, Philippe, I want you to take four of the cadets and join the other marksmen."

He gestured to a small group of soldiers gathered at the left side.

"You will have access to a higher position, and will fire from there."

Aramis and Philippe nodded and bowed their heads slightly. They chose four of the cadets to accompany them and took off into western direction with the rest of the group.

"Alright, Porthos, Athos, Daron, Albert, Gerard, you are joining the first attack on the camp. Assemble!"

The men lined up, next to the other soldiers under the command of Toiras. They all got a short instruction of what they were supposed to do.

After they got their orders, they started to march. Athos chose to walk next to Porthos and Daron, since he felt the most comfortable around them, but every man stayed silent, so that they could use their advantage. Surprise was everything.

Or it would've been everything. As soon as the wooden piles that formed the 'fortress' wall were in sight, they heard screaming and bellowing behind it, and within seconds, the first shots rang out. A soldier in front of Athos fell to the ground, a gaping hole in his chest.

"Get back!" they heard the bark from their commander somewhere behind them and a "return fire!" from somewhere else.

Far to their left, they spotted a small hill, covered with trees, where the marksmen were lying on the ground, returning the fire to the fortress with their muskets. Athos searched his commander and spotted him about twenty feet away. He signaled their group to wait until the fire stopped because the enemy had to reload, then they started to run. Athos realized how he cut out all of the movements surrounding him, only concentrating on his feet running on the ground, the feeling of his boots in the slick mud. It was just a small fortress, nothing more but a small camp, but the noises that filled the night here were surely enough to draw the attention of the main camp.

A group of fifteen soldiers had successfully destroyed two of the piles so they were able to enter through the hole in the wall. The first two men who tried to slip through were killed before they could put a foot on the other side. Athos raised his pistol before he entered, and fired it at the man who was awaiting him with a sword raised over his head. The camp behind the wall was a pitiable sight, since it consisted of ten tents at most. More soldiers came pouring through the wall and tore down more of the wooden piles.

Athos threw himself to the side as a rapier came crushing down on him out of nowhere, and he rolled through the mud, his hand darting to his weapon at the belt. He parried the second blow of the attacker as he got up on his knees last second, and he reached for his main gauche meanwhile. He forced his attacker back with sheer strength and added three blows, which were all parried by the man. As the attacker tried to duck under Athos' blade, the swordsman made a swift move to the side, kicking the man in his exposed chest and finished him off with a quick swipe of the blade.

He took a second to gather his thoughts, and the deafening battle sounds around him slowly started to return to his consciousness. He saw the tall musketeer Porthos throw a man through his field of vision, before the musketeer's eyes met his own.

"Behind you!" Porthos shouted and made an attempt to rush for his aid, but was distracted as he was tackled by one giant of an enemy. Athos immediately followed his comrade's warning and without hesitations, he stabbed backwards. The sound coming from behind him assured him that his blade seemed to have found its target.

"Retreat!" they heard several yells in the camp, and most of the men staggered backwards, trying to escape through the dark of the night.

A few soldiers made an attempt to chase them, but the commander stopped them.

"Leave them!" he said and reattached his sword to his belt, "We won for now. We'll worry about the rest later!"

Athos strode over to Albert, who was lying in the mud, and held out a helping hand. Albert blinked in confusion, but the second he recognized Athos he gratefully accepted and Athos hauled him on his feet.

Tréville appeared out of nowhere, exchanged a few words with the commander and headed to his musketeers, who were gathered in front of one of the tents.

"Everybody unharmed?" he asked.

"More or less," Porthos grunted and Daron nodded approvingly.

"We have very little time to prepare our…" But that was all Tréville managed to say.

Cannons were being fired, and not in the distance as it happened to be earlier, but very near and very loud. Every man got into cover, thanks to their fast reflexes. They heard the thundering of the cannons, but it didn't seem as if they were the target. Judging from the sound, they were fired from at most two miles from here. They heard shots, returning the fire, but apparently going nowhere. For safety reasons, they waited until the noises died down. Tréville was the first one to react, and he jumped on the other side of the wall again. Athos was only inches behind him.

The horror on the captain's face mirrored his own as he realized the target of the canons. The hill, where all their long-range marksmen were positioned, was a mess; some of the trees were knocked over as their trunks were destroyed. Plumes of smoke welled up to the sky, and countless, but distant screams filled the night. For a second, nobody dared to make a sound.

Porthos was it who asked the question of all questions.

"Why them? If they know we are here, why not attack this camp?"

Tréville shuddered.

"They had men in this area. Or the canons cannot reach this camp for some reason. It is well hidden, after all."

The captain exhaled slowly, his eyes locked on the hill. Distant, but agonizing screams pierced through the air. The source was definitely the attacked location.

"Go. See if there are survivors. They cannot have wiped out all of our marksmen."

It was a statement, not a question.

"But Sir," Albert chipped in with a skeptical tone, "what if they attack it again when we come to retrieve the wounded? If we go there now, we could as well beg them to fire their canons again."

"He does have a point," the voice of the commander rang out calmly, "and we don't know where these canons are positioned. The risk is too high."

"I am not leaving my men out there!" Tréville snapped, "I'll go there myself if I have to."

"You are needed here," the commander said, "If you think it's safe, send out some men. It is up to your judgment, Tréville." The commander left.

Athos cleared his throat.

"They technically have no reason to attack the spot again," he declared matter-of-factly.

Daron nodded.

"It would be a waste for them and they know that." he added.

"It is a risk," Tréville stated, but his eyes were begging for someone to disagree.

"A risk I am willing to take", Porthos growled and folded his arms.

Athos gave a small nod with the head.

"Me too."

Daron snorted approvingly and some other cadets behind them expressed their consent as well.

"If you insist, Captain," Albert hissed and he trudged off to the hill. Athos and the other hurried to keep up with him.

Athos gulped as he entered the scenery on the hill. It was truly terrifying. Many men were trapped under overturned tree trunks; others weren't even recognizable, due to the damage done.

Others were lying in the dirt, obviously thrown through the air after the impact of the canons hit them. They only spotted five men standing. Athos and the other musketeers passed through the scenery, inspected the bodies and tried to save whomever they could.

Athos worked together with Porthos, and with the help of the big musketeer, he was also able to free one of the men who was trapped under thick and heavy branches. Together, they dragged three men back to the camp. No canon was fired.

Albert and Daron as well as the cadets also retrieved as many survivors as they could. One of the men who happened to be still standing dropped on his knees next to a wounded cadet, and Athos noticed an unfamiliar shocked feeling sweeping over him as he recognized the cadet he and Porthos talked to earlier. The man kneeling down next to him was Philippe, and he was keeping pressure on a large wound at the man's side. Athos and Porthos hurried over to them. Athos gently tried to take Philippe's place, but the musketeer resisted, and kept focusing on the cadet.

"Philippe!" Porthos called softly and squeezed the musketeers shoulder, "We got him. You gotta let go, mate."

Philippe lifted his head and stared at Athos, who gave him a confident nod. Slowly, he let go and moved back.

"You're injured," Porthos said and took a look at Philippe's shoulder, which was dripping with blood.

Philippe reacted slowly, his gaze wandering to Porthos. Sudden panic seemed to get a hold of him and he clawed onto Porthos' arm.

"The others…back there," he wheezed.

"We'll get them," Porthos promised.

"Albert, Daron!" Athos bellowed.

The two men came over, and without asking questions, they took over the cadet and carefully started to get him to the camp. Porthos helped Philippe stand.

"Can you walk?" he asked him and Philippe nodded."Go, help the others. There must be survivors down there" he said again and pointed into the direction, before staggering towards another wounded man and Athos exchanged a quick look before heading off into the direction they were told.

For most of them, they weren't able to do anything. Two of the cadets who had come with them knelt down next to a soldier who was trying to get up, and they gave him a hand and helped him hobble over to the camp.

Frustrated, Athos inspected every man here, and checked if he was able to help somewhere.

"Athos!" he heard Porthos shout and the former comte turned his head to look at his comrade, who fell on his knees next to a musketeer that was lying on his back.

As Athos quickly joined him, he realized this musketeer was Aramis. He was lying on his back, a small trace of blood covering the left side of his face. The armor on his left arm was torn and the skin below was open, blood seeping through and covering the leather uniform. Other than that, he seemed fine.

The marksman's eyes were wide open, staring at the sky, and his fingers clawed into the dirt. He was mumbling something, words missing context and sense. He didn't seem to notice the presence of his brothers-in-arms.

"Aramis," Porthos tried, but he got no reaction from the soldier.

Athos leaned over him.

"Hey, Aramis!" He gently tapped the side of his face. "Come on, snap out of it!"

No reaction. None. He just lay there and kept on muttering words they couldn't understand, Athos wasn't even sure they were speaking the same language right now.  
He looked at Porthos and they came to a silent conclusion. Each of them grabbed an arm of Aramis and began to carefully drag him towards the camp.

* * *

They met an anxious Tréville at the camp, who kept hovering over every man they brought in. The wounded were being treated; Athos was able to spot Philippe and the wounded cadet outside of a tent.

He and Porthos lay down a now unconscious Aramis next to them. As soon as Tréville noticed their presence, he stalked over, his brow furrowed in worry.

"How is he?"

Porthos sighed.

"Alive. He's got a few scrapes and bruises and this nasty wound on his arm, but that is all. Was stunned though, when we found him. Awake, but didn't seem to notice us."

Tréville bit his lip and nodded his head thankfully.

"We got any new orders, captain?" Athos asked, struggling to keep the usual indifferent tone to his voice.

Tréville shook his head.

"Not yet. But it's only a matter of time."

Athos nodded and sat down next to Philippe to take a closer look at him.

"That wound…," he explained calmly and pointed at the shoulder, "needs stitching."  
Philippe responded with a half-shrug.

"It will be taken care of."

Athos nodded, realizing that Philippe did not request any company right now. He stood up, walked over to Porthos and Daron, and waited for new orders.

The remaining musketeers were lined up about an hour later in front of Tréville, who sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Alright, gentlemen. We have worked out a plan. But you are not going to like it."

"Well, it's not as if we are having a say in the matter, right?" Albert corrected and received an angry stare from Tréville.

"Unfortunately, that's right," the Captain replied and took a deep breath. "We need a few men to attack their main camp from the side. Our scouts told us that they are guarding every direction. We need to make them believe we are coming from the Westside."

"So, a distraction?" Athos concluded and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Tréville cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable.

"Yes."

"How many soldiers?" Porthos asked.

"The musketeers will be split in groups of three. As well as about eighteen other soldiers."

"What about the wounded?" Porthos said, not seeming content with the answer he received.

Tréville motioned to the tent where the men were being treated.

"Philippe agreed to guard them. He is fit enough."

"What are our exact orders, Sir?" Daron, ever the soldier, asked specifically.

"When you approach the camp from western direction, there are multiple spots to find cover. The groups will split up on to these spots and you will hold your positions there."

They all nodded and Tréville continued.

"Daron, Albert, Gerard, you will build a group."

The named men gathered and nodded in agreement.

"Pierre, Volbéan, Jacques."

The three cadets stood up straight, their faces determined.

"We are an uneven number. That will leave you Porthos," Tréville said and pointed at the broad man, "with Athos."

Athos threw a quick glance at Porthos, who gave him a confident nod. In fact, Athos was glad he was paired up with Porthos. He had a good feeling about this.

"I'm joining them!" a voice sounded from the tent, and they all looked up to Aramis, who came crawling out of it, putting on his dirty doublet in the process.

The dried blood was still covering one the side of his face, giving him a wild appearance, but his arm was bandaged and the confusion they had seen in his eyes earlier had vanished.

Tréville looked up and into the eyes of Aramis. He hesitated for a split second, but then he gave a brief nod. It was a silent conversation between a captain and his soldier. Apparently, they knew each other well enough, and Tréville may have inspected Aramis with a slightly worried and skeptical gaze, but he accepted the marksman's offer gladly.

"Very well. Porthos, Athos and Aramis it is then. One of the scouts will lead you and the others to the location. Take care."

Everyone bowed their heads slightly and gathered their weapons. It was going to be a long night.


	2. Part Two

**To New Shores**

-Part Two-

"If that's what Tréville names 'cover', the man has lost his mind," Porthos stated bluntly as stared at the area in front of them.

The scout has taken the different groups to different locations, but they weren't too far away from the rest.

Athos was able to make out the group of cadets maybe two-hundred feet away. He looked to the other side to search for Albert and his group, but Aramis stepped into his line of sight.

"I guess he failed to mention a little detail," he hissed as a response to Porthos' comment.

The object that should provide their cover was obvious and impossible to miss. It was an old ruin, where morbid stone walls were the only evidences left, about the height of a grown man, standing in a ninety degree angle. There was also a small hollow in the dirt next to it, with a little work, it could be perfect for someone to fire from there.

But the 'little detail' as Aramis put it, could indeed lead to a little change of plan. Because Tréville seemed to have forgotten to tell them about the five men on their side of this ruin.

Three were sitting there, chatting with each other, and the other two guarded it, their hands on the hilts of the rapiers.

"Do we have a choice here?" Athos asked and looked at the two musketeers expectantly.

To his right, Aramis shook his head.

"I somehow doubt it."

"Except for when somebody wants to politely ask the men to leave this place to us and flee to their camp," Porthos suggested, his voice dripping with irony.

Aramis snorted.

"I like to be polite, but even I have to admit that it's not even worth a try."

"We 're going to attract the attention of the main camp," Athos implied and motioned with his rapier to the wooden piles building the wall about sixty feet away from the ruin.

"Isn't that our job anyway?" Porthos asked and furrowed his brow in confusion.

"That is correct," Athos replied, not sure what to answer. Porthos was right after all.

"Then what are we waiting for, eh?" Porthos murmured and without hesitating for another moment, he jumped out of cover and headed for the ruin.

Aramis closed his mouth again after one failed attempt to come up with a proper plan, exchanged a quick glance with Athos, and then they followed their taller companion.  
It didn't take long for the guards to spot them.

The two armed men pulled out their rapiers immediately and one of them ran right into Porthos' awaiting sword. He got him by the shoulder and before the enemy was able to make another move, Athos finished him off with a quick swipe of the blade. In the meantime, the other three men got alarmed as well, took a hold of their weapons and threw themselves into battle.

Athos dove underneath the blade of one attacker, a small and very agile person. He quickly swirled around and parried the next blow with his main gauche, but in the blink of an eye, a rapier clashed so hard against the dagger that it flew out of his hands. Athos launched a few attacks against the man, all of them unsuccessfully. The swordsman made a move to the side and grabbed the smaller man by his sword arm, wrenching at it until the man went down on his knees with a scream. Athos took advantage of the situation within seconds, just as the man made an attempt to reach for his rapier; he finished him with a strong hit.

He had no time to catch his breath. All of his air was knocked out of him as another man tackled him to the ground. Due to the impact, Athos lost grip of his sword and went down, feeling the man's hand at his throat.

He stared into the eyes of his attacker. All he could see was cold, pure anger, and Athos desperately tried to reach for his sword as he was being strangled.

He heard the sound of steel clashing on steel, and saw Aramis with his back to him, dancing around his opponent, a giant of a man, trying to gain the upper hand.

"Athos!" he heard a sudden shout and through his blurry vision, he saw Porthos, holding the last man in a headlock. The musketeer kicked a dagger into his arm-reach, and Athos has never felt as relieved as he now was able to get hold of the cold, dirty metal and plunge it into his attackers torso, before kicking him in the chest and as far away from him as he could. The man went down with a gurgling sound, but Athos felt a rip around his neck and noticed his necklace in the firm grip of the man.

Athos gasped for air, desperately sucking in all the air he could and coughed two or three times. He watched Aramis taking down his opponent with an impressive, half-jumping move, and Porthos knocked the last man so hard against the stone that he went limp in an instant.  
Just as he made an attempt to get up, he heard a shout from Aramis.

"Stay down!"

Deafening shots thundered through the night and bullets wheezed through the air, lodging themselves in the sticky ground around them. Porthos and Aramis quickly ducked behind the stone wall, but Athos' eyes were locked on the necklace, still locked in the cold, icy grip of his fallen enemy.

The rain of bullets didn't stop, but as Athos saw the necklace, the key to his past, lying in the dirt, he couldn't contain himself and he got onto his knees before he leapt forward.

"Athos!" he heard Aramis yell, but he didn't pay attention and crawled on his elbows until he was able to reach out for the necklace and grasp it out of the enemy's unmoving hands.

A hot, burning pain erupted in his shoulder as a musket ball grazed his flesh, and he let out a muffled cry of pain. He grimaced and clenched his teeth.

Suddenly, he felt a weight on his body and noticed it was Aramis, who run out of the cover as well, his arm covering his face as he now reached for Athos' leather doublet and started to drag him backwards into the safe shelter. Aramis softly slammed him against the stone wall, grabbing him by the collar. The blood on his face and his wild, dirty hair gave him a dangerous appearance, but Athos just stared at him with indifference.

"You fool!" Aramis bellowed over the noisy riot, his wild eyes were wide open.

His eyes searched Athos, looking for any kind of indication what Athos just risked his life for. And, in all fairness, Aramis did too. Which surprised Athos, because why would he do that?  
The shots were fewer now, and finally, they stopped.

Athos was panting, and growled gruffly as Aramis pulled the necklace out of his hands.

The marksman stared at it unbelievingly.

"You risked your life for a piece of jewelry?" Porthos asked reproachful.

Athos clenched his teeth.

"It is mine."

Aramis huffed. "You could've been killed out there. I didn't take you to be so reckless and act so foolish. Guess I've been mistaken."

Athos growled.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking you know me."

Another fusillade started around them. Aramis' eyes went wide, but he paid no attention to the balls that churned up the ground around them. His gaze was locked on Athos, his lips trembling with anger.

"Really?" he said and held up the necklace, which Athos immediately snatched out of his hand.

"Let me guess. A woman," Aramis started, his voice sounding furious.

Porthos raised his hands.

"Hey you two, this is neither the place nor the time."

But Aramis continued.

"It didn't end well. Or you left her. Or she wasn't who she said she was. What of it is it, eh?"

White, hot anger welled up in Athos, and he felt as if Aramis had just poured salt into an open wound.

"This is dangerous territory you are entering here."

Aramis growled.

"No, my friend. This ground we are sitting on _right here_ and _right now_ , that is dangerous territory. Throwing yourself into the line of fire, that is dangerous."

"I didn't ask you too!" Athos retorted rabidly.

"I'm not letting you idiot walk right into the fire. Apologies, that is not in my blood!" Aramis hissed.

Athos stared at him, fuming with anger.

"Do yourself a favor," Aramis concluded a little softer, before sinking back against the wall, his face a mask of exhaustion. "Don't let the past direct your present actions."

Athos on the other hand wasn't finished, his mind still fogged by his temper and his wrath, cold as ice.

"Ironic, coming from you. The one who is still running away from the demons that are chasing him since a mission ended in a massacre."

Aramis face turned to stone, as he realized what Athos was speaking of.

"Dear God…," Athos heard a sigh from Porthos, who was watching helplessly.

"I don't ask you to tell us about whatever demons _you_ are running away from, but I am asking you to set the present as your priority," Aramis responded, his voice cold, "I am not letting another musketeer die. Not as long as I can prevent it."

The anger wore down and Athos stayed silent, just as the night did as the shots stopped again.

"You are wounded," Aramis said matter-of-factly a few minutes after their fight and leaned over to have a look at the wound. Athos allowed him to, and turned his shoulder to the marksman.

"The ball only grazed your shoulder," Aramis stated after examining the gash, "I'm going to clean it. If necessary, you will get stitching in the morning. I don't have my needle here."  
Athos grunted approvingly and hissed, as he felt burning liquid being spilled over his shoulder. Aramis squeezed his shoulder sympathetically.

"Everyone settled now?" Porthos asked, clearly referring to their prior conversation.

Aramis sighed.

"I am sorry for my outbreak, Athos. I went too far. I had no right."

Athos winced as he shifted his body into a sitting position.

"Neither did I."

He truly did feel sorry. Aramis had saved his life, and from his point of view, the reason why he had to do it was not reasonable.

Porthos grunted.

"Since we are all friends again, could we concentrate on the battle we are fighting right now, yes?" he suggested.

Aramis nodded and shouldered his rifle with his good arm.

"Can you two provide cover?" he asked.

Both of his companions nodded and pulled out their pistols. Aramis pointed at the hollow and counted to three, silently.

On three, Porthos and Athos shot out of their covers and used the small, very fragile window frame to fire their pistols. Aramis rolled out from behind the wall and dived for the hole and the cover from the shots it offered. Athos and Porthos hid behind their stone wall too, waiting for another salvo of musket balls to go by, reloading their weapons in the process.

In the meantime, when the shooting died down, Aramis returned the fire with his musket, and they heard other shots from other muskets being fired into the same direction from the other group spots. A good distance away, Athos spotted Daron lying flat on the ground, firing his musket as well.

"How long exactly are we supposed to persevere this?" Athos yelled over the thundering noises.

Porthos gave a short and ironic laugh, before firing his pistol again.

"As long as it takes Tréville and the commander to lead the rest of the troops to the other side of the camp. In the meantime, we must keep the attention on us."

Aramis leapt over to them again, leaning against the stone wall. His hand was pressed against his arm, where a little blood from the wound from earlier was beginning to soak the bandage.

"I guess we succeed in that matter," Athos commented dryly to Porthos who gave him a crooked smile.

"Yeah, after being sent here like pigs to the slaughterhouse!" Aramis growled and rose from the ground to fire his pistol. He didn't sound mad though; the tone in his voice was more excited than reproachful.

It felt like a never ending process the next hour, and in the end, it was just a waste of supplies.  
At least in Athos' opinion. The enemies' shots all went into the ground, some ended in the stone wall. But the three musketeers weren't any more successful, since the wooden fortress wall was a good shelter for the enemy.

Then, the shooting stopped, and the three men took the opportunity to draw a deep breath and calm their nerves. Porthos was lying on the ground, propped up on his elbows. Aramis and Athos lay slumped against the stone wall, closing their eyes as they enjoyed the temporary peace.

After maybe two minutes of resting, Athos spoke up.

"How many shots do you have left?"

He showed the four bullets in his gloved hands.

"Six," Porthos asserted.

"Two." That was Aramis.

Porthos threw him a quick glance, then he rummaged in his pocket and lay two of his bullets into Aramis' hands. Aramis gave him a thankful nod.

"Now, we all have the same chance. And we have to make it count."

"Ready?" Athos asked his companions.

"Born ready," they replied simultaneously and exchanged a wide grin.

They aimed and they fired the exact moment some of the men behind the fortress' walls showed themselves in order to couch their weapons.

For the first time this night, some balls hit their target. They ducked behind the wall again, reloaded, aimed and fired again.

As long as they had nothing left.

"What now?" Porthos asked, flinching as one ball wheezed past him and missed him only by inches.

"Now," Aramis started and closed his eyes, "we wait."

The enemy, probably running on endless supplies, didn't stop firing at them, and Athos instantly hoped the other groups had a safe shelter.

"I am really getting tired of waiting," Porthos stated roughly and got into a more sitting position.

"Me too. But we don't have a choice."

And so they waited.

More or less safely hidden behind a short stone wall, flinching every now and again when a bullet got too close to them.

It was something Athos had never experienced until now. Even though he didn't show it, he was terrified. When engaged in a duel, he had control, and he felt safer. Here, pushed into a corner with nowhere to go, and under constant fire, it was different. And a bizarre feeling overcame him as he realized the presence of the two men he barely knew, who were stuck by his side in a terrible night like this, gave him comfort. And despite his former aversion towards company of any kind, he was glad he wasn't alone right now. Both of those men had saved his life in the last two hours, and that was enough for Athos to trust them fully and unconditionally. He just hoped to repay that one day.

Porthos to his left was tense, eyes scanning the area and focused on keeping himself behind the cover.

Aramis, to his right, was draped in the corner of the ruin, his eyes closed, and he was murmuring something. Not senseless as he did earlier when they found him wounded after the canon's fire, but concentrated, and determined. Athos realized shortly after that he was praying.

"Is this what you imagined your first time on the battlefield to be like?" Porthos asked him.

Aramis didn't look up; he was lost in his prayers.

Athos gave the musketeer a crooked half-smile.

"Yes and no."

Porthos raised an eyebrow.

"Meaning?"

"I didn't imagine how this would be," Athos began, trying hard to maintain his usual indifferent tone in his voice. "And I didn't expect anything in particular."

Porthos looked confused.

"Every man has an expectation. Of the fear or of the strength, it doesn't matter. Every man who joins the musketeers thrives for something or runs away from something."

Athos sighed.

"Well, I needed a new start," he dead-panned. "And the musketeer regiment seemed like a good opportunity."

"Still…," Aramis interrupted from behind, his gaze wandering curiously between Athos and Porthos, "what is it that you aim to achieve here?"

Porthos thought for a moment, then he looked the marksman deep in the eye.

"Just like Athos, I don't know. But I hope I will find it out. A year ago, I would've said praise or glory, but I somehow don't think it will give me satisfaction."

Athos hesitated for a moment, but then he carefully answered the question too.

"King, country, my honor. Make up for my sins in the past. Not getting killed tonight sounds good to me, too."

Aramis eyed him with a thoughtful look, his gloved hand wrapped around a wooden and simple crucifix he wore around his neck and he nodded, offering the swordsman a warm smile.

"And you?" Porthos asked carefully and threw Aramis a curious look.

Aramis smirked.

"Right now? I'm doing the best for the men fighting next to me. For now, that will suffice."

Athos very well noticed that Aramis did keep a lot of the true answer for himself, but he didn't say anything.

Athos raised his voice.

"Well, I also heard rumors about musketeers receiving discounts on the wine in certain taverns in Paris. I've got do admit, that drew me to the regiment as well."

Porthos gave a heart-warming full-body laugh and Athos also heard Aramis chuckling next to him.

"I don't want to destroy your illusion," Aramis said and squeezed Athos' uninjured shoulder in sympathy, "but unfortunately, that rarely happens."

"Damn it," Athos growled with fake displeasure and his two comrades smiled at him widely, and for a moment, they were all able to forget the balls tearing the ground around them apart, and they were deaf for the riot that erupted around them.

They endured another full ten minutes what felt like an eternity. Porthos' position was the most unstable out of them, and most of the enemy's balls crashed into the wall behind him.

And then, the rain of bullets stopped.

For a few moments, nobody said a word, until Athos spotted Albert hidden behind some trees only about a hundred feet away. He was waving violently and Athos made out the words he was shouting before anyone else did.

 _Cannons._

"Porthos!" he yelled as he heard the cannon shot and he noticed Aramis yelling something behind him as well. In what it felt like slow-motion, he grabbed Porthos by the waist and shoved him onto the other side, pinning him to the ground with all the force he could manage.

A split second later, a cannon ball rammed into the ground next to them and would've been fatal for Porthos if Athos hadn't seen it first.

The impact smashed the three of them against the wall, were they lay now, coughing because of the dust being swirled up by the impact. Athos cursed as pain erupted in his shoulder again.

"Everybody unharmed?" Athos demanded to know and hectically searched for the other two.

He noticed he was still pinning Porthos to the ground with his uninjured shoulder, and both of them have been thrown against Aramis, who was still gasping for air, but gestured he was alright.

Athos helped Porthos in a sitting position.

"You okay?"

Porthos nodded slowly, squinting his eyes against the dizziness.

"You saved my life," he rasped and his gaze wandered to the gaping hole in the ground right next to the spot he has been occupying moments before.

Athos clasped his shoulder and slightly patted him on the cheek.

"You're welcome."

It was beyond weird. Here he was, dropping his indifferent mask and tearing down the barrier he built inside, in the heat of the battle alongside two people he barely knew, but who he felt a deeper connection to than any men he met ever since he left his estate.

"Another, better aimed cannon ball and we are erased from here," Aramis commented, fear was obvious in his voice.

"Yeah, I know, we should probably…"

But Athos stopped as Aramis suddenly strengthened the grip he had on Athos forearm.

"Hear that?" the marksman asked and the other two listened carefully.

There were voices, shouting orders, and the sounds of fired pistols thundered through the night. From the eastside.

"Tréville!" Athos stated with a questioning tone.

Aramis nodded and a relieved smile flashed across his face.

"Finally."

Another cannon ball was being fired, but it wasn't aimed at them. With a loud and intense crack, it tore a hole into the wooden fortress wall, sending splintered wood flying through the air.

Athos located Albert and Daron two-hundred feet away from them. The musketeers drew their rapiers and charged towards the wooden wall.

"Tréville distracts them. They won't fire at us," Porthos said coyly.

"Shall we?" Athos asked and pulled out his rapier.

Aramis granted him a mischievous look and stood up.

"I don't have other plans for tonight."

Porthos each laid a hand on his comrade's shoulder and squeezed it.

"What are we waiting for, eh?"

And together, they sprinted towards the wall, hearing their other musketeer brothers doing the same.

The moment the marksmen behind the wall spotted them, they started to fire, but the three men were faster and jumped through the hole in the wall without hesitation and found themselves in the middle of a raging battle.

The royal army had arrived, and each man seemed to be fighting a duel on their own.  
Athos threw himself into the fight. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Porthos and Aramis doing the same thing. Porthos roared as he punched the living hell out of one of the men, before the opponent was able to retreat from the fight.

Athos blade clashed on steel and he was able to land multiple strikes on his opponent, before finishing him off with a swift move of his main gauche.

He took a step to the side just in time to avoid getting stabbed in the chest by another attacker. He grabbed him by the arm and twisted it in an instinct motion, and the man screamed in pain.  
Athos, thinking he had the upper hand, tried to kick him to the ground, but the attacker was faster. As if he didn't feel any pain, he closed his fist around the blade of Athos' rapier, who immediately tried to pull it away, and got punched in the face by an elbow in his moment of diversion.

He stumbled backwards, losing his grip on his sword, only armed with the short dagger in his left hand. His opponent got back on his feet again and now charged forward, his sword held up high above his head. Athos simply rolled to the side, landed on his knees and stabbed the man in his left thigh, which sent him to the ground. He landed a vicious kick to his head, and the man crumbled to the ground, unconscious.

He drew a deep breath and grabbed his rapier again, before a familiar scream tore through the air. He knew the tone and he was urged to turn around and spotted Aramis about fifteen feet away, disarmed and pinned against a wall. His hands were wrapped around the neck of his opponent trying to free himself, while the attacker, a tall man with broad shoulders, had a firm hold of the musketeer, using his forearm to press him against the wall, while his other hand dug into the originally stitched wound on the marksman's arm.

Athos noticed Aramis' panic-stricken face and the clenched teeth in order to suppress another scream. Athos threw a quick glance at Porthos, who was battling two men at once, obviously too busy to realize someone was in trouble.

Athos didn't waste another second and tried to run over to his comrade, but he was stopped by another man, a grim looking one who charged at him with an intimidating roar.

Athos stepped aside and brought up his sword just in time to block the attack, and he used his advantage in speed to finish him off in just a couple of strikes. He hurried over to Aramis, who was growing really pale by then, and stabbed the unaware attacker from behind.

The attacker went down and Aramis lost his balance for a split second, before gathering himself and standing up straight again, his hand wrapped around his bleeding arm. As he recognized Athos, he smiled relieved.

"Thank you."

Athos granted him a piercing glare.

"Don't get used to it."

Aramis grimaced.

"I guess we're even now."

Chaos was still evident around them, and the volume of the battle noises rose again.  
Athos and Aramis both scanned the area with their eyes, looking for somewhere where they were needed.

Suddenly, the all-too-familiar sound of another cannon being fired echoed through the night and Athos' senses were on high alert. Panic got a hold of him as he shook his head, looking for the source of the shot.

Nothing could prepare him for the impact that followed. The last thing he remembered was a deafening bang and the feeling of being thrown through the air. All that followed was darkness.

* * *

The first thing he was aware of was a slight movement beneath him, and the constant clang of steel ringing in his ears. He picked up some voices, shouting.

"Retreat! Retreat!"

He heard other voices, barking commands, and feet trampling the ground next to him. He felt air wheeze past him as someone jumped over him. The noises didn't stop and were too exhausting for Athos' foggy mind to follow, so he fell back into the friendly embrace of darkness.

* * *

"Athos. Athos can you hear me?"

Someone was tapping his cheek. He groaned, as it worsened the ringing that returned to his awareness.

"Athos, come on. Snap out of it."

Sluggishly, he opened his eyes and looked into the concerned face of Porthos.

"There you go," the musketeer commented and smiled, "It's all good. It's over."

Athos blinked multiple times to clear his vision and cleared his throat.

"What…happened?"

"Cannon ball next to you. Consider yourself lucky, it was enough distance not to hurt you two too seriously."

It took Athos a few seconds for the words to reach his mind.

"The two of us?" he repeated slowly, gasping as a movement under his back jarred his previously received wound on his shoulder.

Porthos made a face.

"Well, yeah. It's Aramis you are misusing as your pillow right now."

A soft moan from behind confirmed that statement. Athos tried to move and realized he was sprawled over the legs of Aramis, who was draped on top of a heap of splintered and destroyed wood, probably the ruins of the wall. He looked as if he regained consciousness only a few moments ago.

"As much as I usually know how to appreciate gestures of physical closeness, you would do me a favor if you could move now," Aramis rasped and tried to pull out his legs.

Athos gratefully accepted the hand offered to him by Porthos and the big musketeer hauled him to his feet. Athos grew dizzy for a moment and grabbed Porthos' shoulder for support, but after a few moments he was standing on his own.

"You unharmed?" Porthos asked, eyeing him intensely, "apart from the shoulder I mean." He motioned to Athos' injured shoulder, and the painful pounding returned the moment Athos remembered it.

He shrugged it off..

"I'm fine."

He looked at Aramis and he and Porthos both offered a hand to the marksman who didn't look as if he wanted to make the efforts of trying to stand up on his own. With united strength, they got him up on his feet, where he started to wipe away the dirt and dust from his uniform with his good arm.

They all looked a little worse to wear, but the other soldiers didn't look any better. But apparently, they won the battle.

Athos saw Tréville budging his way through the crowd of exhausted and wounded soldiers, Daron and Gerard were by his side. Obvious relief was written all over the captains face as he saw his men, and he quickly made his way over to them.

"Aramis, Porthos, Athos. Thank God. Are you alright?"

Tréville inspected the area, noticing the shape Aramis and Athos were in and the prints of the cannon ball on the ground. Aramis sighed.

"Remarkably, we are still here." He made a short pause. "Why did they fire cannons at us? They had their own men down here."

It was a statement, not a question. Tréville nodded, his eyes had a distressed expression.

"Several battalions of our troops were sent to disenable the cannons. Once they realized they were overrun, one cannoneer went crazy and still fired. I was worried he may have succeeded."

Athos nodded understandingly.

"I see. Well, as you can see, we are still standing."

As if to refute his own statement, Athos swayed dangerously as he grew dizzy and Aramis didn't look too steady on his legs.

Tréville chuckled.

"Yes. I can see that," he dead-panned.

The three of them stumbled over to their captain while taking a look around. It was dawn, the sky began to light up slowly. The realization that this awful night was over slowly but surely crept into Athos' consciousness. He was still standing. He survived. His comrades did too. It could've been worse. And something in the regiment changed for him, his connection to the other musketeers, his attitude towards the loyalty of his comrades.

Tréville stared at them, one of his unusual and rare smiles covered his face. He rammed his fancy sword into the ground and leaned onto it.

"Gentlemen. I think it's finally time to go home."

* * *

They were on their second day of their way home to Paris. The musketeers had stopped at an inn, allowing themselves to enjoy a little bit more comfort for one night. Tréville was seated at a table in the corner of the tavern, observing his men enjoying their night, but keeping a normal distance.

His gaze wandered over his soldiers. He knew how happy they all were to finally go home, and he was too. Not that dealing with the temper of the king was easy, but it was a challenge he preferred over fighting grand battles. His gaze met the one of Philippe, the wounded soldier, who leaned against the bar, chatting with a young lady that poured him a drink.

The other soldiers who were too badly injured to return to Paris were brought to a military hospital camp not far from la Rochélle. Philippe insisted on returning to Paris with the rest of them.

Albert was drinking and chatting delightfully with the innkeeper, telling the story of the siege of île de Ré.

Tréville smirked.

His gaze wandered over to Athos, who was seated with Aramis and Porthos at the bar. They still looked exhausted, but they were recovering. Aramis and Porthos were chatting lively, Athos was brooding silently about something.

Tréville frowned. A man walked up to Athos, clearly drunk, and slapped his hand on Athos shoulder, causing the swordsman to flinch and twist out of the touch. But the man didn't let go.

"You. I don't like the attitude you are showing off on this beautiful evening," the drunkard slurred and slapped his hand on the bar.

Athos shrugged the hand off his shoulder, wincing as it jarred his healing wound.

"You are not forced to sit with me. Feel free to enjoy your evening elsewhere," he answered and took a sip out of his wine.

"I don't want to repeat myself…," the man babbled and pulled out a long dagger from a belt he wore around his waist and held it in front of him, putting the tip of it on Athos' chest. Athos looked very annoyed.

The reaction was immediate. Aramis and Porthos leapt on their feet at an instant, drew their pistols and aimed at the man.

"I would not do that if I were you!" Aramis threatened with a dangerous tone in his voice.

Porthos wasn't inclined to let go either.

"You are leaving now. If we see you near our friend again, I will make sure you regret it."

The man stared at them in disbelief, but he let go and stumbled towards the tavern's door. Aramis and Porthos holstered their pistols and took their seats again, and clinked glassed of wine with Athos, who tilted his head in acknowledgement.

Tréville let out a breath he didn't knew he was holding. He had a strange feeling when looking at these three, and he didn't know what kind of feeling. As he saw them now, growing from practically strangers into friends, it remembered him of something. Probably his younger self, experiencing adventures with his brothers-in-arms.

He knew Athos didn't believe him all the times he told him the stories of brotherhood, of friendship, and how those were the most valuable things a man could gain in the regiment of the musketeers. The former nobleman had been cut off from the rest of the world, not interested in any kind of connections to any human beings. But it was obvious for a man like Tréville, who was a pretty good judge of character, that the night on the island had changed something in and for Athos.

Same went for Aramis and Porthos. Porthos was always one to enjoy everyone's company, but he wasn't always welcome at other tables, and he didn't get comfortable with a few of the other men. But now, in the company of Aramis and Athos, Porthos seemed carefree and relaxed.

And Aramis, well Aramis just seemed a little bit more like his old self. The man he had been before Savoy happened. Even though Tréville knew that these demons didn't fully vanish, but were just locked away somewhere, he was glad to see one of his most seasoned soldiers bond with other musketeers again, chatting with them, laughing with them, and fighting with them.

Tréville couldn't dismiss the feeling that those three had a lot to come. And he was witnessing the beginning.

That they were going to write history together, a tale for old men to tell to their children, for captains to tell their soldiers.

A tale of friendship, brotherhood and adventure, a tale of heartbreak, duty and sacrifice.

And they were only on page one. **  
**

 **-The End-**

* * *

 _Just a short take on their first meeting I wanted to share with you. Reading over this one again gave me even more ideas. But I'm working hard on a new story currently, so hopefully, I'll see you soon._

 _Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed._

Historical background:  
The situation referred to here is the recovery of the _**île de ré**_ _by elite French regiments under commander Toiras in autumn 1625. The island, located in the atlantic ocean west of La Rochélle in western France, was held by the Hugenots, under the command of a man called Soubise. He was forced to flee back to England with the remaining ships after his defeat. A year later, the Treaty of Paris was signed, between the Hugenots and King Louis XIII, guaranteeing religious freedom, under some (military) restrictions/conditions._

 _In 1627, the Duke of Buckingham tried to invade and recapture the island, but the French troops barricaded themselves in the citadel and Buckingham was forced to retreat._


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